Mourning Of The Heart
by Demasiado Piola
Summary: Out of all the people in Europe he certainly isn't expecting HIM to be there standing in front of him, soaked from head to toe and trembling slightly. No, he isn't worried... just a little curious...


The rain can be heard in every single part of the enormous old house, falling violently on the roof. He is used to the sound, to the point it's almost soothing. It's always raining, and even though it used to bother and annoy him some centuries ago, it's most welcome now. It reflects exactly how he feels, how he's been feeling these last couple of years…

He sets the cup of hot tea on the table and a tired sigh escapes his lips. His beautiful green eyes proceed to look around, analyzing his surroundings. How long has he lived here? He can't remember, and the huge amount of memories that this old house holds makes his already bitter existence turn even bitterer every passing day. By just sitting there, in that old living room, he feels attacked by an army of memories and happier times. He remembers when the corridors and rooms of his house used to be filled with sounds. Sounds that resembled joyful laughs of a certain precious child…

He doesn't notice when a stray tear falls down his face until it hits one of his trembling hands that were resting in his lap. A shallow laugh comes out of his throat as he realizes how pathetic he must've looked. He's been crying, mourning for the same exact thing for how much? A century? He doesn't know. No, he just doesn't care anymore. More tears start falling down his face, almost imitating the non-stopping rain from outside.

His heart aches; it's been aching for too long.

Just as he was about to wipe his tears, to get those awful memories out of his head, a loud and heavy knock fills the empty halls of the house, reverberating on the walls. England takes no time in drying his face and fixing his composure. He checks himself over in a nearby mirror, making sure there's no trace that he was crying, before making his way to the main door. He walks towards it in an elegant and refined way, keeping his head up high, hiding the overwhelming and aggravating emotions he was feeling just some minutes ago.

The person on the other side of the door knocks again, this time in a more desperate and loud fashion, causing Arthur to sigh in annoyance.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, alright!"

He would give whomever it was who disturbed him a piece of his mind! He isn't in the mood for visitors or to be a good host right now. He just wants to be left alone with his thoughts and his cup of tea (which must be freezing cold by the way). It doesn't matter, he is just going to tell that person to leave him alone in his own misery in a politely and gentlemanly fashion.

He's so focused into forging different excuses and alibis to tell this unexpected guest to leave him alone, that the moment he opens the main door, he feels himself paralyze in the spot. Green eyes meet green eyes, and the British man's mind goes completely blank. Out of all the people in Europe he certainly isn't expecting _him_ to be there standing in front of him, soaked from head to toe and trembling slightly.

After recovering from the impression, England notices some rather interesting and curious details from the man that stands in front of him. Arthur knew this man well; he would recognize his untamed dark curly hair, shinny green eyes and goofy smile anywhere. But there is something odd about him that unnerves England the moment he notices what is missing in him. His so characteristic smile is gone. And after further analysis Arthur notices that the man in front of him is a complete mess, a shadow of what he used to be. He looks tired, dark circles surround his eyes, and England is even able to catch the glimpse of bandages from under the dirty clothes, covering the man's arms and probably part of his chest. What catches his attention the most is the fact that his eyes are lacking their characteristic shine, looking almost dead; empty.

England's body shivers slightly at the sight of his long time enemy, still shocked to see him there and to see him in such conditions. He doesn't think about the fact that he must look like an idiot, standing still in his house's doorway and staring right into this man's eyes, not saying a word for a couple of long seconds.

"Uh … _Inglaterra_?"

The heavily accented Spanish voice has the same effect as a bucket of cold water, and the English gentleman feels his face burn up, obviously blushing. He frowns and huffs annoyed, looking away a second later, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"What do you want?"

His tone of voice is firm and demanding, there is absolutely no kindness or respect in his words. It's the tone of voice he reserves for this man only, his pirate-self taking control whenever he is near him.

" … I-I need to talk to you, _Inglaterra_." At the mention of those words, Arthur's frown deepens. He surely isn't in the mood to talk with _him_ from all people! Even if he feels a little bit curious as to _why_ he would want to talk to him and _why_ does he look so miserable. Not that he cares, he is just curious. "I promise I won't take long. _Por favor_!"

England is about to shut the door right into Spain's face, when something stops him. Something about the Spaniard's tone of voice makes him hesitate. He sounds absolutely broken, desperate and just plain hopeless. "_Just like I feel…"_

He glances once again towards the Spanish man, and after seeing him so helpless and practically begging him to let him in, his heart just can't take it anymore. He knows something is wrong; there is no way that Spain would arrive unexpectedly to his house, looking like an abandoned puppy and pleading him with his eyes to let him in and talk to him. Something happened, and it's bothering England to no end.

He lets out a heavy sigh.

"Alright, just make it quick."

He steps aside to let the Spaniard into his house, and even if it is for just a second, he sees the flash of a tiny, shy and quick smile take over Antonio's lips.

England leads his guest towards the room he was drinking tea earlier, and with a swift move of his hand, commands him to take a seat in one of the old couches.

" Stay here. I'll be right back"

The words come out harsh and rough. After saying that, the blonde man with enormous eyebrows leaves the room, walking elegantly into one of the numerous halls, leaving the trembling Spanish man alone.

He goes into one of the bathrooms and takes out a towel. He hesitates for a second; why does he even care if Spain is soaking wet and might catch a cold? He stares intently into the towel, as if trying to find the answer written in it. Why is he even letting that man be in his house? Why did he even agree on talking with him in the first place?

The last time he checked, Spain and himself were enemies, rivals! He thinks that maybe having this man in his house is a bad idea. What if it's a trap? What if Spain is actually planning on taking revenge on him for sinking his Armada? …

His paranoid side takes over himself, and with the towel still in hand, he peeks quietly through an open door that leads to the living room, trying to see what's the Spanish man doing exactly. He honestly expects to see him grinning mischievously, with a sword in hand and ready to attack him the moment he enters the room, but he's taken aback when he actually sees him sitting quietly in the same place he left him, with his head low and shivering uncontrollably.

He feels his heart grow heavy in his chest. A wave of pity and sadness washes over him, as he finally kicks himself mentally for being so paranoid. It's obvious that something's wrong with the tomato-loving country; plus there's also the fact that those times were long gone, he's no longer a pirate and neither is Spain. There's absolutely nothing to worry about, right?

Leaving those stupid thoughts aside, he walks into the room, pretending that nothing is wrong, that he isn't secretly suspecting a surprise attack from the Spaniard. He roughly shoves the towel in Spain's face, blushing furiously and looking into the opposite wall.

He absolutely isn't worried about the tomato-loving idiot's health; he isn't worried about the fact that he looks miserable and broken. He totally doesn't feel like hugging the Spaniard because it bothers him to see him so serious and depressed…

He's not worried … just curious...

"Take it. I don't want my furniture to get wet because of you, bastard."

After a couple of seconds of not receiving any response from him, England turns his head to find two round and puffy green eyes looking right straight into him. The blonde feels his face heat up once again as his bushy eyebrows meet in the middle of his face, frowning. He is about to snap at the Spaniard and ask him why in the world is he staring at him like that, when he notices that the man's characteristic smile is once again decorating his beautiful face. It isn't as wide or as honest and cheerful as it usually is, but it's still there and England feels relieved for a second. The smile disappears as fast as it came, and Spain takes the towel from England's hands with his own shivering ones. Arthur can see the gratefulness in the dark haired man's eyes, and he finally realizes that he finds Antonio's smile to be extremely attractive. He shakes his head slightly and curses himself for thinking those kinds of things. It's his idiotic enemy and rival, for God's sake! What would his Queen think about him if she ever finds out he's been thinking such stupid things?

"_Muchas gracias …_"

England just nods and proceeds to sit down on the couch opposite to Spain. He crosses his legs and with his usual frown drawn in his face, he waits for Spain to stop drying his hair and face, so he can finally find out what in the world it's going on with the so called "country of passion".

Antonio after a couple of minutes finally finishes and with a deep and tired sigh he leaves the now wet towel on a chair nearby. His body isn't trembling anymore, but he still feels extremely cold. He is about to hug his chest as a way of warming himself up, when he hears a cough coming from his host, finding himself looking into two demanding and severe green eyes with two bushy eyebrows frowning deeply in front of him.

"So, what is it that you want to discuss with me, _Anthony?_"

Arthur smiles mockingly, knowing that the Spaniard hates it when he addresses him with the English way of saying his name. He is challenging him and even if it's been just a couple of minutes he has spend with this man, he feels nervous and disturbed, he doesn't like this attitude of Spain. He needs to get the old idiotic smiling tomato-loving bastard he knew and hated out, this shallow and depressed person in front of him is someone he just doesn't know at all, like a complete stranger.

"Ah, yes that." There is no annoyance in his tone of voice, and with that England understands that this is in fact something serious. Since he saw the Spanish man standing in his doorway and then looking miserable sitting in his couch, Arthur had though that maybe the situation wasn't as serious as it looked. That maybe Spain was just depressed because he couldn't harvest his tomatoes on time and they were all withered or something like that. He thought that maybe it was the typical idiotic thing Spain did…

A perfectly normal Antonio would've never dismissed the chance to call him _Arturo_ as revenge for him calling him _Anthony_. Neither would he visit England. It makes Arthur feel extremely worried and anxious. He knows something is wrong and finally snaps out of his little denial bubble, worry invading every part of his body.

He hates the man, there's no doubt of it. But something is horribly wrong with him and the fact that he decided to come to Arthur's side makes the British gentleman feel a knot in his heart.

" … How do you do it?"

It takes England a couple of seconds to realize that Spain is speaking to him. He looks at him and is surprised to see that a serious expression has taken over the Spanish man's features. He also notices the faint glint of hope in the man's eyes.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said… how do you do it?"

"Do what, you git?"

The Spaniard lets a long sigh escape his lips and Arthur starts to feel annoyed. Spain tries to talk again, opening his mouth to keep on chatting but no sounds come out of it. England closes his eyes in annoyance, mentally counting to ten. He knows the man isn't al right, but all this mystery about why he is here it's getting on his nerves.

"… What I want to know is …" Spain takes a long pause, trying to find the perfect words. England is starting to seriously consider just yelling at him, and kick him out his house. He breathes in trying to calm his rising anger. How long will it take for that stupid idiot to say what he wants to say?

Antonio takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and opening his mouth once again. This time however, words come out of it.

"H-how do you keep going on, knowing that the people you love and care for the most don't want you in their lives anymore? … I-I mean …"

He abruptly stops talking, and Arthur knows he's on the verge of tears, he also sees how the broken man in front of him is fighting the aggravating emotions inside of him. Spain lowers his head, trying to hide his face from his old enemy's sight.

England's face softens; all angry emotions inside of him disappear in an instant. He feels a knot in his own throat, relating to the Spanish man's situation just too well.

How do you keep going on, indeed?

His heart aches every time this subject comes around, and he knows he'll end up as broken and depressed as Spain when the conversation comes to an end.

How is he going to give advice to this poor man when he's still not over it himself?

Curiosity takes over him suddenly as a memory appears in his brain. He remembers hearing rumors about the mighty Spanish Empire dissolving, about Spain's American colonies plotting their independence.

He didn't pay attention when France had come to gossip about Spain's unfortunate situation. He was suffering himself and he, in all honestly, didn't really care about the Spaniard's life in the slightest….

" … So the rumors were true then? Did they really …?"

He immediately regrets asking that question the moment he sees the pain in the Spanish man's eyes. He bits his lip, he isn't really used to social interaction; he's always been alone. He doesn't know how to act in this kind of situations. He's never comforted anyone, neither has he ever given advices before.

"All of them, t-they all left me…_me dejaron solo…_"

"… I'm sorry" they are the only words that escape from his lips, and he feels useless and pathetic. He already went through this when his dear beloved America left him years ago. He went through the same pain, same desperation and hopelessness his enemy is feeling right now. And as much as he hated him, he'll never wish the same sadness and emptiness he felt to anyone. No one comforted him, no one tried to make him feel better when it happened to him.

That doesn't mean he is going to let Spain suffer as he did. No one is that cruel… well maybe Russia, but that's another point.

England suddenly stands up. He stays there, just standing, debating what to do next. His heart is breaking, seeing Spain like this reminds him just too much of him, as if looking at himself in the mirror.

A strange force makes his body move. He's been suffering alone all this years with no one to comfort him and to understand him. No one who would know and understand how it feels to lose someone so precious to you.

And there he is, facing his long time rival and enemy, the only person he knows who can understand his pain and anguish right now. Finally, he's not alone in this suffering.

He suddenly realizes that he's standing right in front of the Spaniard, just some centimeters apart from each other. Spain is looking up at him with watery eyes, confused. When did he walk all over there?

They stare at each other for a couple of seconds, before England's desperation of finally finding someone who feels the same way he does takes over his body. Arthur then finds himself hugging awkwardly Antonio's body, and blushes fiercely up to his ears. He is about to let go, apologizing for the stupid impulse that possessed him, when he suddenly feels two strong arms hugging back.

He feels himself paralyze in the spot, too shocked to do or say anything. He feels even more uncomfortable when Spain hides his face in his chest, mumbling incoherent stuff, increasing his hold on the British man. After a couple of minutes, Arthur finally finds himself relaxing at the touch, and with a little bit of hesitation, he starts stroking the dark haired man's head.

"Don't worry Antonio, you're not alone. I-I'm here." and with saying that the English gentleman's vision gets blurry as he feels the non-stopping tears fall down his face once again. Antonio imitates him, crying tears of his own, soaking England's clothes.

Arthur isn't sure how much time they stayed like that, cuddling with each other, until they both stopped crying their eyes out. They still sit on England's couch, still hugging each other but neither of them is saying anything. The British man looks out of the window and a little smile is placed on his lips as he notices that it's not raining anymore. The Spaniard is resting his head on the other's chest, fooling around with one of the buttons of the gentleman's clothes. They appreciate the silence, finally feeling at peace to know that they have each other, that they aren't completely alone.

"You never answered my question, _Arturo_…"

The silence is suddenly broken by Spain's heavily accented voice. Arthur ignores the stupid Spanish name, still looking out of the window. He feels the knot in his throat again, as memories of his America start filling his head.

"Forgive me Spain, I don't seem to have an answer to that question …"

"_Qué? …_What do you mean by that?"

" …"

England doesn't know what to say. He's still not over the fact that his America left him; doesn't need him anymore. His mood starts turning bitter, as he remembers the American's face the day he lost the war to him. The day his life became miserable. Anger spreads through his body intoxicating him, as poison running through his veins. _"Stupid ungrateful brat!"_

Spain stares quietly at how Arthur transforms in front of him. He sees how the sad and rather calm face, turns bitter and angry, the caterpillar eyebrows meeting in a horrible and intimidating frown. The Spaniard feels intrigued; he hasn't seen that face in centuries.

"What did we do wrong, Antonio? Weren't we good enough for those ungrateful spoiled brats?"

England's tone of voice is full of venom and resentment. He's kept this rant inside of him for years, afraid to say it out loud, to proud to admit his weakness; the fact that he is broken inside.

Spain doesn't have time to answer that question, as England abruptly stands up, almost dropping the Spaniard to the floor.

"I gave him everything! Took care of him, nursed him when he was sick! Cooked for him, spoiled him with gifts! Gave him all my love and care!"

He doesn't notice that he is shouting, moving his arms desperately, and trying to put more emphasis in his words.

"Then why? Why did he leave? Why did he leave me Spain?"

England finally snaps, too many years has he kept his emotions inside of him. Too many years has he used his perfect poker face in front of everyone else. He secretly feels grateful to have Spain; he doesn't care breaking down in front of him. He knows the other man will understand him.

England tries not to release more tears. Three times in a row in just one day? He closes his eyes, clenching his fists. He knows Spain understands him, but he still isn't very comfortable with the idea of his rival seeing him cry two times.

He feels the familiar arms surround his body once again, and it's his turn now to hide his face in the other's chest. He swallows a great number of sobs, still trying not to cry. Spain tries to calm him down, rubbing small circles on his back with his hand, and whispering soft nothings in his ear.

Curiosity takes over him as he hears a soft chuckle coming from the Spaniard's lips. He raises a bushy eyebrow, eyes still watery with the incoming tears.

"What are you laughing at, you git?"

Antonio looks at him still chuckling.

"_Dios mio_, we're so pathetic Arthur. Look at us, the world's biggest empires crying their eyes out for a bunch of ungrateful kids. It's so _patético_ it's funny!"

He laughs again, and Arthur frowns. Is this bloody idiot for real?

"You find our misery funny?"

Spain nods, his so familiar goofy smile plastered on his face. Arthur can't help but smile a little at the sight. He feels relieved that the cheerful man he knows has replaced the depressed Spain that came to his house some hours ago.

The Spanish man's laughter stops as he notices the hour the father clock in the living room is showing. He should get back to his own country; it's getting late.

"Well, _amigo mio_, I should get going now …"

"What? So soon?"

England takes both hands to his mouth the moment those words leave his lips. He blushes a dark shade of red, looking at the floor. He doesn't believe that he said that out loud. He really wants the Spaniard to stay, he's sick to be alone, but his pride wouldn't allow him to ask him to stay for a little longer. Antonio just looks at him with curiosity. Did he really just say…?

"Arthur, do you really want me to stay? _Enserio?_"

Arthur huffs annoyed, closing his eyes and crossing his arms. He's too stubborn to admit that he would like the other's company very much.

"W-why would I want that? You bloody bastard, I've been waiting all this time for you to go, I was perfectly fine with my tea before you arrived!"

Antonio grins mischievously. He pats England on the shoulder, startling the other, and then with an enthusiastic "_Adios Inglaterra!_" he proceeds to walk towards the main door, right from where he came. His grin is still in place when he feels a shy hand grab his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

"_Si, Inglaterra?_ What's wrong?" He can't help but put a slight mocking tone in his words. He knows the other doesn't want him to go, he's been dealing with this man for centuries now, he knows him better than he thinks.

"I, uh …"

England doesn't know what to say. Yet again he's been controlled by a stupid impulse. His body had moved on it's own. Arthur locks his gaze on the floor for the millionth time that day, and letting go of Spain's sleeve he coughs in annoyance.

The country of passion can't help but smile a real and genuine smile, something he hadn't done in months. Seeing his rival acting like this makes his heart melt, and he bites back the urge to pinch the British man's cheeks.

"_Por Dios_ Arthur, you look so cute like that! _Pero qué monada!_"

England's heart skips a beat at the mention of those words. Did he … did he just say that he was cute? His face takes the color of a whole new level of red, almost reminding Spain of his delicious tomatoes.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, YOU BLOODY IDI-"

Arthur isn't able of finishing his sentence, as he feels two warm lips pressed against his own. It takes a moment for his brain to register what's going on. When he finally understands that Spain, his long time rival and enemy, the country he hates even as much as France, the same country that has suffered just like him with the independence of his colonies, the man that suddenly appeared in his doorway that same day, is kissing him passionately, England feels as if the natural order of things just ceased to exist.

He closes his eyes as he finally decides that their past it's no longer important. He replies back, deepening the kiss as he feels the other's arm curl around his waist. This man, this country, it's the only one he knows that can finally understand him, the only one who is able to relate with his pain, that feels as lonely as he does.

They both lost the ones they loved and cared for the most, it still hurts both of them, but they have each other now, to make the time it'll take them to heal from their wounds be easier to endure. They can finally relax, knowing that they have each other, that they aren't alone. Not anymore.

Arthur can't help but smile against the other's lips. For the first time in years, he feels extremely happy.

* * *

Author's note:

Ok, this one took a while. I've been using this fanfiction as an excuse for not studying for my final exams. Yeah I'm awesome like that.

I'm pretty sure you all noticed eventually, but yes, the end was EXTREMELY rushed. Blame my exams and the burning urge I've been feeling to finish this. So what can I say about this? Well, let's start with the fact that this couple is horribly ignored. And as much as I enjoy seeing Iggy raping Tonio in their pirate days, those kind of stories are so common it gets boring. Seriously. I wanted a more angsty and not so "mature" point of view of this pairing. So there you go. I suck at romance and stuff hahaha I really shouldn't try it. It's actually the first time I write a kissing scene, and it sucked. I should just stuck to emo/angsty stories...

Anyway, I would really appreciate a review, if you wouldn't mind. I'M NOT A NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER (my mother language it's spanish), so any suggestion, critiques, corrections, etc. are EXTREMELY welcome. I really want to improve. On the other hand, I'm putting a list of the few and rather basic spanish words I used:

_Inglaterra:_ England.

_Por favor:_ Please.

_Muchas gracias: _Thank you very much.

_Me dejaron solo: _They left me alone.

_Qué?: _What?

_Dios mio: _My God

_Patético: _Pathetic

_Amigo mio: _My friend

_Enserio?: _Really? or For real?

_Adios: _Good-bye

_Si: _Yes (if you didn't know this one, shame on you!)

_Pero qué monada!: _That's so adorable! or something like that. This expression is used only in Spain if I'm correct. It's not used where I live (Chile) at least

Well I hoped you enjoyed reading this. I had my own little fun at writing it. It's the first time I write something in present tense, so It's most likely full of mistakes. Hhahaha I need a beta tester like, now.


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